


The Broken String

by TheSightlessSniper



Series: Long Overdue [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Ciel is not a brat, Confused Sebastian, Could be considered Out Of Character, Demon Ciel Phantomhive, Emotional Confusion, M/M, Post Kuroshitsuji II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSightlessSniper/pseuds/TheSightlessSniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The strange ache in my chest keeps intermittently reappearing. Sometimes it feels like a gentle tug. Others it is like someone is simultaneously trying to rip it out through my abdomen, my back, and my throat all at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Broken String

**Author's Note:**

> A little continuation, because apparently my brain likes to throw angst at me, then assault me with fluff and filth to try and compensate. I'm surprised I didn't descend into complete smut!

I have much time to make up for.

Since the night he dissolved our contract, he’s been oddly quiet, barely speaking a word unless he is asking for something. Even so, his commands aren’t commands but polite requests, and despite no longer being under his control, I comply and bow to them.

I can still smell pain within him. He still has guilt flooding through his veins, and I’m unsure if there is anything I can do to ever relieve him of it completely.

‘Sebastian, could you pass me the third book from the right on the shelf, please?’ I walk over to the shelf by the window and pass my fingers over the titles. He found himself enthralled a little while ago by a set of seven books involving wizards and witches, and I frequently find him sat rereading them. Then there are some of the classic horrors, ‘Frankenstein’, and ‘Dracula’, ‘Pride and Prejudice’…He reads almost anything, but only keeps his favourites here. I tug the thin book sandwiched between two larger ones and carefully hand it to him. His fingers brush mine, and our eyes meet.

He hasn’t mentioned our kisses. It was something we fell into doing that night, and that have peppered our days ever since. Some are shy pecks, but some are passionate embraces that suck the breath out of both of us. It is those that I await, and savour when they come.

‘Thank you,’ he breathes, moving away from me and sitting down in his favourite chair. The blanket stares at me from its place on the shelf with the books, and I gradually unfurl it and tuck it around his folded legs. His eyes watch me intently, the guilt spiking in my nose.

I wouldn’t know what to say to him if I opened my mouth. I know he’s waiting for me to say something. I know he wants me to acknowledge him verbally. But every time I open my mouth I stumble over my own words before they even leave my tongue. His confession of love has left me unable to articulate anything without it becoming garbled nonsense, and that is not my aesthetic at all.

The strange ache in my chest keeps intermittently reappearing. Sometimes it feels like a gentle tug. Others it is like someone is simultaneously trying to rip it out through my abdomen, my back, and my throat all at the same time. I supposedly can’t feel human emotions and yet tears freely ran from my eyes that night.

My left hand twinges and I remember the lack of the chaining from the contract. Now I feel like it was more like the Japanese concept of a string of fate. One that I fear I have severed and cannot be retied.

Ciel looks up at me from the book. ‘Sebastian?’

‘Yes?’ That’s the first word I’ve spoken to him in days.

His eyes soften. ‘Would…Would you like to sit with me?’

The chair is built for only one, but it is a large chair. With his small frame, someone of a similar size could easily fit next to him. I am, however, larger, and the small space appears cramped. At my nod, he shifts his body along, pressing himself into the cushions at the side to try and accommodate me, but it is still a squeeze. After a moment, I tire of the tightness and pull him sideways into my lap, his legs dangling over the arm. He looks surprised, but not uncomfortable as I draw the shifted blanket over the both of us.

The guilt radiates off of him, and I pull the book away from his hands. ‘Ciel, I don’t want you to feel this anymore.’

He knows exactly what I mean, and one dark-nailed hand slides over the outline of my jaw. I lean into it without thinking. ‘I don’t want you to feel trapped by me anymore.’

‘You dissolved our contract, and yet I have not left,’ I finally find myself able to speak in more than one word answers, ‘so does that not say that I do not want to leave?’

Our lips meet in tandem, for the first time in synchronicity with the other. I drop the book over the side of the chair and latch on to his upper arms, holding him tight. His own wrap around my neck like when I have carried him, and he shifts in my lap to reach higher.

The cloth of my clothing is rubbed against me and I gasp into the kiss at an electric feeling running through the sensitive area beneath. His thighs flank mine, and I raise my hips to his without a second thought. His eyes flick open, burning bright into mine. ‘Sebastian…’ His moan is breathy and the only smell that reaches my nose is lust, mixed with a sweet scent that I know I have smelled somewhere before but can’t place.

My hands drift down his back, and I dip one of them below his waistband into the back of his trousers, massaging his buttocks through the material of his underwear. I know my eyes are aglow and I reek of sexual desire, and even as I look into his otherwise innocent face, I can see he knows I want him closer. He descends on my mouth once more, and makes me moan as he slides his hips smoothly against me once again.

This time it’s both of us who gasp, and he moans and moves again. His fingers on one hand flick at the top button on my shirt, opening it with a surprise deftness, then work on more of them. When it’s half-open, he delves the same hand underneath it and over my chest and ribs, then rests his hand over that place above my heart. He pulls back from our latest kiss, breathing slowly, then lets his fingers dance over that little patch of skin. ‘You’re not the only one that can smell human emotion now, Sebastian,’ he states softly and I let out an involuntary moan as his index finger drifts across my heart.

A strange sensation radiates through the area he touches, and I have to take a deep breath to clear my head before I notice that it feels lighter than it ever has before. I glance at him, his eyes flickering back to that beautiful blue, and realise that the ache I didn’t even realise was there all along was now gone completely.

I’ve been pining for him all this time and hadn’t even realised that I’ve always been in pain.

He doesn’t expect my next kiss, yelping into it as I press him as tightly to me as I can get him. I want him close. I need him as near to me as possible.

I need him. I need Ciel. I think I always have.

His hands fist into the back of my shirt and he writhes and gyrates above me, snapping his head back to let a loud moan rebound off the ceiling above us. ‘Oh…’

‘Ciel…’ My words come out as a whine, unbefitting of me, but I don’t care as I roll my hips up. ‘Ah…’

‘Sebastian…’

This dance continues. I press myself against him the best I can as he presses down on me. The inside of my clothing provides pleasant friction against my sensitised groin and I know he can feel my arousal both in the air and physically beneath his own. Our eyes lock, both flaring demonically in the dying sunlight streaming through the window behind us. His mouth falls open slightly, and he breathes over my own open mouth, sweet-tasting and addictive. The teasing air wants me to lean forward and capture his lips, but I revel in the tension of how we almost meet, then pull back at last second. A small smile upturns his lips, and mirrors my own. I let out a small chuckle, and he smiles wider.

His smile is something beautiful. I rarely saw a true smile when he was alive. The last century and a bit, I was too tied up with my own stupid resentment and anger to even notice if he ever smiled anymore. I take pleasure in the look, feeling it spur me on as we rock and grind and touch.

Our pace becomes frantic. His hands slip upwards, sliding into my hair and massaging my scalp with his nails. The strangely relaxing stimulation only adds to the feeling stirring below the belt. His smile is fuller, true, and ecstatic as suddenly his eyes widen then flutter closed as he jerks against me in uneven jolts and before falling limp in my arms, even laughing a little as his orgasm overtakes him. ‘Sebastian!’

The sensual call of my name does it. The growing dampness reaches me through his clothes and mine, and I come undone before him. My head falls forward onto his shoulder and I gasp and…dare I say it…shamelessly mewl like a kitten into his shirt as euphoria hits. ‘Ciel-AH!’

We still, catching breath we don’t even need but deem necessary in this moment to regain our senses. I have never taken much pleasure in sex. It has generally been a mechanical and sometimes messy way to scratch an itch, or to worm information out of someone in a way that they find to be to their benefit. Orgasms were short-lived bursts of hollow pleasure that I took before getting on with my day. And yet I have just had the most intense orgasm of my entire existence and achieved it without even removing my clothes, and without him even touching my flesh below the waist.

Ciel’s hands run the length of my neck and head, fondling every inch he can get a hold of. His hands feel at my hair, then he places a kiss somewhere into it and breathes in my smell. I’ve never known what I smelled like and until this moment, I have never cared. I hope it’s pleasant. ‘Mm…’

I lift my head up unsteadily and bury my nose into the soft skin of his neck, returning the favour; a kiss, and a deep inhale of his scent. The scent is complex but soft and I get a note of rosewood and warmed sugar, like he has perfumed himself even when I know he hasn’t. I wonder to what my own scent is like. ‘What do I smell like?’ I whisper.

Ciel’s nose slides through my hair as he inhales again and hums in appreciation, and I nuzzle into his throat in response. ‘You smell like rain. Fresh cut grass…and then there’s something else, like sandalwood or cedar.’ I raise my head. Do I really smell like that? ‘It’s complex. Conflicting. But every note of it…wonderful.’ His tone is adoring, and I’m helpless to my need to kiss him and hold him close to me again.

I am reminded of his words from a few days ago. He so openly told me he loves me, and yet I am still to return the favour. I hadn’t even realised I had been in agony for all those years and one touch to my heart by him and I suddenly feel freer than I have ever been. And I am…happy.

‘You granted me freedom.’ I feel him tense at my words, and I gather him into my arms and hold him tighter, eyes turning to meet his. ‘And if it’s alright with you, I wish to exercise the freedom to stay here. In your arms. If you’ll have me.’

The sweet scent of emotion from before catches me again, and I am suddenly reminded of the smell I couldn’t place. It was the same as the one that came in waves off Elizabeth Midford when she was in Ciel’s presence, and the same one I caught barest hints of when I was serving for Ciel. Longing. Adoration. Two undeniably similar smells that wound their way into one confusing amalgamation and has been eluding my understanding for so long, and Ciel recognised some sense of it before I did.

The smell becomes stronger as I am pulled into another slow kiss, and it becomes clear that it’s not just coming from him. It has been under my nose for more than a hundred years, and it is only now I have come to comprehend that I am the one radiating it in violent waves. ‘Ciel.’

He seems to know what I’m about to say, because he shakes his head. ’You aren’t bound by the contract anymore.’ He furrows his brow and bites his lip. ‘You can lie. You don’t have to say it just to try and please me.’

I reach for his right hand with my left. The ache of the missing contract has dulled a little but not faded entirely. ‘The contract is gone, but the sentiment is still valid. I cannot lie to you, even if I wanted to.’ I lean in to his face. My nose skims across his cheek, mouth reaching his ear, and he descends into silent tears as I drop my voice to the barest of whispers. ‘I love you.’ With those words, I feel freer than I have in over a century.

And the string knots itself back together.

**Author's Note:**

> I am such a sucker for a happy ending in fanfiction, but I can't stand 'chick-flicks'. Go figure.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! See you in the next one.


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